You Make My Dreams
by Blackbirdox
Summary: It's these moments that Eames likes best- moments when the rest of the world has faded away, leaving just the two of them behind. Moments when they can just be together.


**Disclaimer: Yes, it's all mine and I own everything. But just in my dreams. **

**A/N: I just really had the urge to write smut and this is what I ended up with. I tried my best to give it a bit of a plot but um, it mostly is just smut. I really have to give a lot of thanks to CorkyConlon because without her telling me to keep writing, I don't think I would have finished this. Feedback is always appreciated!**

It's been a long time- it's been_ months_ and that's much too long by either of their standards to go without seeing each other.

Eames had been away in Spain working a job and Arthur had remained at home for a well needed break. They'd gotten by with phone calls and letters and the occasional naughty text or instant message- curiosity of Eames, not Arthur, of course- but the distance had been difficult for both of them. They'd never actually been separated while they were together as a couple so being without one another- missing half of their whole- was a challenge.

Carrying on a conversation from half way across the world paled in comparison to holding and touching and kissing and whispering in ears and the romance and passion of it all was lost.

However, from the moment Eames had barreled into their apartment, tossing his bags off to the side to somewhere where they landed with a loud crash, and more or less tackled Arthur and pushed him against the wall, the romance and the passion were ignited once more.

Barcelona has been good to Eames. He's tanner and the tips of his hair are lighter- blonder, naturally highlighted by the sun- and though he's leaner in some places, there's a fresh rippling of muscles down his back and across his chest that make Arthur groan quietly in anticipation as he ghosts his fingers across them.

He can feel each and every dip and curve through the soft linen of his shirt and Arthur has a brief thought regarding asking him to dress this way every day. Because not only is it more aesthetically pleasing as far as fashion goes, the shirt clings to all the right places and is just thin enough to be the slightest bit see through, showing off tan skin and tattoo outlines and Arthur's fairly certain that it's one of the most understatedly sexy things he's ever laid eyes on.

Time to relax has been good to Arthur. He's still much the same as he's always been but his smile is brighter and he's a little more rugged. For the first time in a long time, he has stubble and his three piece suit is noticeably absent, replaced instead by a pair of faded jeans and an old and tattered Rolling Stones tee-shirt that had once belonged to Eames.

His hair is just a little longer, curling softly around the ends, and it doesn't take nearly as much effort as it used to for Eames to run his fingers through it or give it a playful tug when he tilts Arthur's head back as he leans down to crush their lips together. Eames makes a mental note to have a talk with him about not letting him cut his hair for awhile.

Arthur's legs instinctively wind around Eames' waist as he's lifted away from the wall and he makes a soft keening sound as Eames pulls his lips away and attaches them to the soft skin of Arthur's neck instead. He kisses and nips and then bites, _hard_, bruising pale white and turning it purple as he stumbles off towards their bedroom.

The silk of the sheets is cool and welcoming as Arthur is pushed- quite literally- back against the bed and Eames loves being able to feel the familiar slide of them beneath his hands again as he hovers over Arthur, pausing for just a moment to slide him a lecherous grin before leaning down and capturing his lips once more.

Their tongues meet and tangle together and Arthur even tastes the same as he always has, like cigarettes, hazelnut coffee and cinnamon gum and Eames just tastes like Eames- like whisky and mint and something that's distinctly just him.

Eames pulls back just far enough to draw Arthur's bottom lip in between his teeth and bites it and the groan he gets in response is hoarse and husky and it makes Eames want to nip at every exposed sliver of skin- to mark Arthur and prove to the world what the two of them already know. That they belong to each other, they always have and they always will.

Arthur's hands are trembling from anticipation as he reaches up and begins to struggle to remove Eames' shirt. He winds up tearing it for the most part and when the buttons go scattering to the floor, he's too distracted to really care because Eames' lips have moved back down to his neck, sucking on the bruise he'd left not five minutes before, and his tee-shirt has been tugged off and torn to the side and one of Eames' warm, strong hands is sliding down the planes of his abdomen, making him gasp and his hips buck when it comes to rest on his belt buckle.

Eames chuckles against his skin, deep and husky from somewhere in his chest, and he takes his time unbuckling and tugging off Arthur's belt, tossing it to the floor, making Arthur wonder how it is that he can be so calm and unhurried. And then Eames trails his lips down from his neck, grazes his teeth along his collarbone and kisses and licks his way down his chest and Arthur can no longer think about anything at all.

His tongue traces the very subtle definitions of Arthur's abs as he slithers down the bed, going about his goal of marking each and every place that he can. He bites, pauses for a moment to suck, and the groans and gasps he gets in return are like music to his ears.

Eames looks up through his lashes and hooded eyes and the corner of his mouth curves up into a smirk as he ducks his head and takes the zipper of Arthur's jeans in between his teeth, tugging it down with ease. Arthur makes a sort of whimpering noise that makes Eames hum in amusement as he reaches up and pops the button open, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops and tugging the jeans off Arthur's skinny hips.

Arthur begins to writhe and wiggle and he growls as he reaches down and tangles his fingers into Eames' hair, giving it a not so gentle tug. "Daniel," he gasps out as his free hand struggles and claws to remove his pants, though he can't quite reach.

The use of his first name, reserved exclusively for their more intimate moments, causes a familiar jolt of arousal to come crashing over Eames and he shudders just slightly as he reaches out and grabs Arthur's wrist, securing it tightly as he removes his own pants to save time.

He wanted to take things slow- to tease and to play and have the whole thing be romantic in their own special way but he's too far gone, too eager and too needy to worry about that now. His head is too clouded by lust and he's aching with want and so he scrambles back up and kisses Arthur with bruising force, sliding a thigh between his legs to part them as he grinds their hips together.

They gasp into the kiss simultaneously and their breath mingles together in the space between their open mouths as they silently stare at one another for just a moment and then they're scrambling- clawing at boxers, rummaging for lube and shifting together in a desperate search for friction and heat and skin to skin contact.

Eames presses a finger into Arthur and Arthur presses right back against it. He throws his head back against the pillow as he groans, exposing the length of his slender neck and causing his hair to fan out around him like a halo.

It's these moments that Eames likes best- moments when the rest of the world has faded away, leaving just the two of them behind. Moments when Arthur is uninhibited and relaxed and there are no expectations or ideals for either one of them to uphold. Moments when they can just _be_ together.

Arthur begins to lose his composure and grow impatient and rush things. He squirms around and insists that prep is unnecessary and that Eames should just get on with it and there's hardness, a fire, in his eyes that Eames just can't resist.

With a breathy groans of _oh god _and _pet_, Eames pulls his hand back and hooks one of Arthur's legs around his hip. He pulls him into yet another kiss and effectively swallows the moan the Arthur unleashes as Eames pushes into him, his nails digging deeply into the planes of his back.

Eames hisses in pain, then pleasure, and then he gasps and his eyes flutter shut as Arthur begins to thrust his hips upwards. The feeling is so familiar, so _warm_, and for the first time since he'd stepped foot in the apartment, he feels like he's actually home. Back where he belongs.

He begins to thrust his hips in time with Arthur and it takes them awhile to fall into a rhythm- which is exactly how Eames knows that he's been away a little too long- but they get there eventually and it's _perfect_.

It's fast and then slow, rough and then gentle- one desperate attempt to make up for lost time as quickly as possible.

Arthur does a glorious thing with his hips that Eames happens to love, bucking them and twisting them around.

And in return, Eames' runs his tongue along the shell of Arthur's ear, whispering the things he knows he like, the things that make him turn absolutely red if they were even hinted at outside the safety of their bedroom walls- things like _so fucking tight_ and _I'm going to make you scream_ and _want you to touch yourself _and Arthur just lets out a groan, raw and desperate, and does exactly what he's told.

His long, elegant fingers wrap around his cock and Eames just about loses it right then and there. His breathing becomes ragged, coming out in short little gasps and pants, and he licks his dry lips as he instructs Arthur to go faster, then slower, and then _no, yeah, just like that. _

Arthur doesn't last long, not even a minute and then he's coming, hard, with a cry of Daniel- _ohfuckDaniel-_ and his fingers twist and curl around the sheets.

Eames follows shortly, finishing off with one final thrust. He tosses his head back and shudders, mumbling expletives and _God, Arthur_s like they're prayers- like they're sacred.

He waits until he catches his breath before he pulls out and rolls off, collapsing onto the mattress with a thud. Arthur automatically curls right up into his side and his head lolls onto his chest and they just lay there together- sweaty and sticky and utterly spent.

The only sound in their room is just the pattern of their breathing- Eames exhales as Arthur inhales- and it remains that way for awhile until Eames starts to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Arthur asks, suddenly all business once again.

Eames just smiles and brushes his lips across his partner's forehead. "Mm, nothing, really. I just happen to like being greeted this way. I think you should make a habit of it."

Arthur's cheeks turn pink but he says nothing- just makes a noncommittal grunt as he hides his face in Eames' side. He certainly hadn't minded the greeting. He just knows better than to say anything because if he does, Eames is going to tease him _mercilessly_ for weeks.

They lapse into silence again because the details of Eames trip and the new job that Arthur has lined up can wait until tomorrow. All that matters now is each other and having time together.

Arthur has just started to drift off, finally able to sleep comfortably again now that there is a reassuring weight settled against his side, when Eames begins to hum the song that's been bouncing around in his head since he was flying over somewhere in Europe. And he hums it loudly. Right into Arthur's ear.

And Arthur thinks that it would be annoying if he didn't find it to be so amusing. "Really?" he muses.

Eames pauses for just a beat to nod in conformation. "Really. I know you have a certain… fondness for that song," he replies with a smirk and then he goes right back to humming, and then from there, he transitions into singing, leaning in to whisper into Arthur's ear.

"_I've been waiting for you. You make my dreams come true._"

**A/N2: You Make My Dreams by Hall and Oates does not belong to me. I just couldn't resist throwing it in there. **


End file.
